


i'd marry you in a dumpster (or in your room)

by chocomelon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining Oikawa Tooru, when i say humor i mean i tried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26572906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocomelon/pseuds/chocomelon
Summary: He can’t keep thinking about it or he’ll never say it. He’s going to say it today. He has to say it today, or he’ll never say it.Oikawa picks this exact moment, in the lazy comfort of Iwaizumi's room, to profess his undying love so it's hard to say why he's surprised by the outcome.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 17
Kudos: 329





	i'd marry you in a dumpster (or in your room)

**Author's Note:**

> I once again have no idea what this is. The dialogue popped into my head while I was watching youtube and it was the first inspiration I'd had in weeks so I ran with it. 
> 
> Title from the b99 quote though they're not getting married just yet.

Deep breath in. Slowly exhale out. Repeat until you feel comfortable, or your breathing has returned to normal.

Those are the instructions to coming down from hyperventilation and Oikawa attempts to follow them as he lays on Iwaizumi’s bed, with his feet propped up on the wall opposite, as the owner of the room sits on the desk browsing through a webpage for his biology assignment. Oikawa is not hyperventilating yet, but he figures he might be close as he runs through his plan for the gazillionth time that evening. He is not well-accustomed to panic.

Maybe he should have made a proactive effort to put himself in more distressing situations, giving him time to accustom himself to it so that in this specific moment, he wouldn’t be sweating a rainstorm or susceptible to fall into what may look like life-threatening choking due to ragged breathing, seconds before his grand confession. Presentation is key after all, and he would have much preferred to have confessed while his hair was newly coiffed and he was fresh out of the shower, skin moisturized and glowing, exuding the fragrance of his vanilla and cherry-blossom body wash. He could have taken Iwaizumi out to a fancy restaurant and paid for his meal and said the all-powerful words over a toast of champagne (never mind that they’re both minors).

Alas, Iwaizumi is a man who values sincerity. As much as he would appreciate the gesture of a splendorous evening such as the one Oikawa had in mind, Oikawa has discerned over the seventeen years of their best-friendship that Iwaizumi much prefers down-to-earth-ness and genuineness. It’s why he so frequently clubs Oikawa in the head for his vapid fakes smiles or agonizes over Oikawa shutting him out from his emotions when he gets frustrated. Iwaizumi always wants it straight (hopefully not _too_ straight, seeing as Oikawa does identify himself as an individual of the male gender, but to the point rather), without pretenses and superfluous actions, just Oikawa as he is. As his namesake, always rock-solid and real.

That’s why Oikawa had chosen this exact moment, this exact scene. Them, lying around, lazy and boneless after practice, settled into the effortless comfort of shared presence, in the nostalgic setting of Iwaizumi’s childhood room, reformed and rearranged over the years but ultimately the same place. The same old and yellowed Godzilla movie poster albeit on the other wall. The same bed frame, once seemingly large enough to act as the _fort_ to a blanket-fort, now dwarfed by their grown statures. The same knickknacks strewn on shelves and the floor and tucked into the wardrobe: the collection of gacha toys Oikawa had obsessively collected and then generously split between them; the matching shirts they had bought on their trip to Tokyo Disneyland; the special edition DVD’s of the entire Kaiju franchise, always lovingly displayed somewhere in the room. It’s their castle, this room, their territory – belongs to Iwaizumi in name only. The picture of sincerity on Oikawa’s behalf.

This choice of his would make or break them, so he made sure to choose wisely.

They walked home together, as always, this time Oikawa all eager to get back, subtly hurrying Iwaizumi along as he changed out of his gym clothes, and Oikawa had bypassed his own house to burst into Iwaizumi’s house as if it were his, with all the familiarity of a lifetime under his belt. Steered them to Iwaizumi’s room. Oikawa had already convinced himself that time was 80% of his ammunition, a sad fact to admit to himself but nevertheless very likely, so he would use it to his full potential. This room, with all the years' backlog of memories that would surge to the surface at the beckoning of his releasing, condemning words. This is the setting. He’d long decided it.

The rest naturally falls into place. He could do it on a weekend but weekends are for small-time adventures and outings not confessions of love. It seems better this way, even more genuine (really capitalizing on that one, he hopes that’s the way to go). Right in the middle of the week, mundane as can be, Iwaizumi doing his homework while Oikawa watches on amusedly, as he is wont to do, having completed it already in class or late into the night. Oikawa likes to be present when he’s with Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi grunts in frustration, hands almost coming up to tear at his hair, before he catches himself in the bad habit and consciously lowers them back to the keyboard. Oikawa’s eyes trail the motion, trace the taut line of his biceps as they flex in vexation, pulled tight in the motion up, and forcibly relaxed as he brings them back down. Ah yes, _arms_. A key player in the game called Oikawa’s Gay Crisis, wherein during Oikawa’s early teen years, Iwaizumi’s features fought to the death to determine which was capable of selling Oikawa on the fact that he was in fact _gay_. Second only to Iwaizumi’s contrasting aggression and gentleness when tending to Oikawa. Which, in turn, is second only to Iwaizumi, The Whole. So really, third, but it’s still a high spot for a body part, Oikawa rationalizes.

His eyes fall to the stretch of Iwaizumi’s neck, the tapering end where his hair meets said neck, still shiny with the sweat from practice and it doesn’t matter how or why because Oikawa’s still staring. These features have previously never made the top ten, but are climbing the ranks today. But then Iwaizumi bites his lip in concentration and they curve into a tiny victory grin – he must have found a reliable website – and Oikawa takes back that statement about arms being the highest-ranking body part, _mouth_ clearly has it beat.

He’s staring. Obviously. The realization of it, however, prompts him to focus. He’s still staring, but now he’s thinking _and_ staring, a dangerous combination in the company of one (1) Iwaizumi Hajime, and usually one (1) Seijou Meme Team – that is, Hanamaki and Matsukawa – but desperate times call for desperate measures. He still can’t remember the five-page speech he wrote out in preparation and he only has so much time until Auntie calls them for dinner, judging by the position of the sun. He’s no fucking sundial but it’s October and the sun’s about disappeared over the horizon so he’d wager an hour at most.

It’s the speech or no go. Actually it’s today or no go, but the speech would be pretty darn nice. And no hyperventilation, which so far is holding up pretty well as a plan, and no sweat, but volleyball practice already ruined that. At least he’s in a not-sweaty pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt (ironically named) which he’s not certain on whether they belong to Iwaizumi or him. Technically, he found them in Iwaizumi’s wardrobe but that doesn’t tell him much, seeing as how half the clothes in there are his for the times he sleeps over. Like today. Like today? He doesn’t know if he’s sleeping over, he just changed instinctively.

What was in his speech again? There had been a long section dedicated to all the favors Iwaizumi owes him. Not sure what that was doing there because it’s not as if Iwaizumi owes him any romantic feelings, but perhaps it just fell out along with all the other long-suppressed feelings. There had been a decidedly less convincing portion dedicated to all the shit Oikawa has put up with for Iwaizumi in the course of their friendship, which was sizeable but not nearly comparable to how much shit Iwaizumi has endured for Oikawa, and again not exactly relevant. God that took out practically an entire page. That leaves only four pages (good job brain, on the maths, that’s enough for today) which seems disappointingly lackluster. Whatever will Iwaizumi say?

He can’t keep thinking about it or he’ll never say it. He’s going to say it today. He has to say it today, or he’ll never say it. That can’t be logically true, since Oikawa resolved as much on multiple occasions prior yet still came back raring to go with newfound commitment each time. It’s not that he's never going to say it, but eventually, it's going to become too late. He has to do it today or he's going to procrastinate until he's sitting in a front-row seat at Iwaizumi’s wedding as his best man (a position he would not want to be caught dead in, he’d rather be the fucking bride, thank you). _Procrastinate_ as if confessing was a chore and not the single result of many a night’s daydreaming and scheming and hopelessly loving.

Iwaizumi roots through his schoolbag for a notebook of some sort, the falling sun setting the room ablaze in deep orange, like the light of a flickering candle, like the auburn leaves outside they’d gather up into piles and knock down. And Oikawa’s head is dropping just past the edge of the bed, tipped so he can see the whole room upside-down, and Iwaizumi is leaning in, but just to access his bag and they’re so, so close. Oikawa could blow and his breath would ruffle Iwaizumi’s stupid spikes. If he lifted his head, it would hit his nose and maybe Iwaizumi would crinkle it up in that cute way. They’re so close. Oikawa wants to reach out and kiss him, Spider-man style. So close.

This is the MomentTM.

“Iwa-chan,” he whispers. He doesn’t mean it to be a whisper but it comes out like that and his voice is kinda raspy, fuck should he have drunk some water before he started this? But it was started wasn’t it? He was going to do it. It was the Moment, _TM._

Iwaizumi looks up from his scavenging of the bag and Oikawa was right – this is so _close_ – and he doesn’t dare to breathe.

“What,” Iwaizumi says. He quirks his eyebrow and his mouth is set into this lethargically content smile like it costs him nothing, and it’s absolutely unfair and absolutely too much.

“I love you.”

Fuck, he didn’t mean to say that. Well, he did, but definitely not so early on. His speech was five, _four_ pages long, sure, but none of the drafts had started with _I love you._ You say that bit at the end, this is confession basics, Romance 101.

He doesn’t dare to study anything on Iwaizumi’s face and barrels forward to rectify his mistake.

“You- Today, when we were practicing the new quick and we weren’t getting it right, you stopped me for a sec and told me to relax, to let go, to do it like it was something new and usually that’s my job but you saw I was getting frustrated and you helped me and it worked and you were so obviously happy it made me happy too.” He wishes he could speak in proper sentences, but everything is slurring together. “Last Monday, when the Makki and Mattsun were laughing over lunch and you had no idea why it was because I accidentally told them I was staring at you the whole lesson and they were holding it over my head.

“When I stuffed up my knee in junior high, you were the first person I wanted to call. You _were_ the first person I called. Because I needed Iwa-chan, not my mum or my sister or an ambulance. I needed you and I knew everything would be okay and it _wasn’t_ because my knee was still hurting like mad, but then you were there and it kinda was.”

He doesn’t like to bring up that time a lot, never talks about it unless he has to but this is important. It’s important that Iwaizumi knows he was the thing that made it all bearable.

“There was a time when we were little, I don’t know if you remember, when I got upset with you playing with the other kids all the time because I can’t believe it but there was a time where you were more popular than me, and you told me I would always be number one. I- And there was something in me that came alive just to hear that.”

Even now, a decade after, every time Iwaizumi makes it clear who his top priority is – Oikawa, always Oikawa – he feels like he could vomit out his heart. In the most romantic way possible, jackhammering heartbeat and all.

“And I know this is just me spitting random memories back at you. This was actually a well-crafted soliloquy spanning fiv- four pages, discussing the nature of love and all the things about you that drive me wild, before you lifted your stupid face and made me forget it all so thank you for that. I got a hundred percent on my oral assessment this year you know, a true orator. Now I look like a bumbling fool. But it’s not like there was ever a good enough way to say in words, how I feel about you, so here’s my closest approximation. I love you.”

Once is not enough. It’s not all it can be.

“ _I love you,_ ” Oikawa insists, trying to pour all that he is into it, lying here, upside-down on Iwaizumi’s bed in what may or may not be Iwaizumi’s sweatpants, surrounded by all the shards of their shared past hanging like crystals in the air, with Iwaizumi in front of him, so close he could shift infinitesimally and their noses would touch, and he is so besotted.

“Mhmm,” Iwaizumi hums. He shifts, closing that hair’s gap, and drops a kiss on Oikawa’s forehead. “I know. Me too.”

And then he pulls back, up and away, having retrieved his desired book from his bag and resuming his enthusiastic research on his laptop. Leaving Oikawa gaping and red-faced, frozen upside down on the bed.

He tries to work his jaw, tries to get the blood working back to other parts of his body that isn’t the skin on his face so he can move and _do_ something, tries to jog the fried synapses in his brain that have gone offline so he can _say_ something.

Oikawa doesn’t know if the predominant emotion rising up in his chest is overwhelming happiness or indignation before it comes out his mouth.

He rights himself on the bed so fast it has the blood rushing out of his head and the polarity of that from the feverish blush he had been sporting seconds ago is so jarring it renders him light-headed for seconds. The words make it out regardless.

“Hajime, I just poured my heart and soul out to you in a magnificent speech, and you reply with ‘me too?!'” He is aware of how shrill his voice sounds. Maybe _he’s_ ruining the moment. MomentTM. No, he deserves better than this. Iwaizumi just barely deigns to turn his attention to Oikawa’s commotion. “Don’t you have anything better to say?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. Oikawa crosses his arms, assuming that’s the end of it, that he’ll get no more and he’s almost willing to grudgingly accept that when Iwaizumi’s hands cup his face and he places a soft peck on his nose.

“I love you, too.”

It’s easily enough to shut Oikawa up.

“Now let me do my homework and we can talk about this after dinner.”

Iwaizumi removes his hands and returns to his laptop once again as if nothing had happened, the definition of unbothered, and Oikawa falls back on to the bed, hands covering his rapidly reddening face. Someday, he’s going to get whiplash from all the blood going in and out of his face.


End file.
